I felt ambitious, and tacos at El Camino at corner of Broadway & Henry
sounded more promising than Blue Plate special at the Schultz Hall, so
I paid my tab, PBR a buck a draft, three dollars with tippage. I set
off west again, encountering the Muskegon Heights Eagle Club. I saw a
lot of cars in the back lot, so I assumed tonight was night for
walleye and a dance band. I buzzed at the club house door and was
admitted by a guy with a pool cue in his left hand, not asked to show
a membership card. The woman at the bar struck me as handsome, a
volunteer bartender making a go of it from tips alone. Usually when I
have crashed a private club, the bartender has me pick a member to be
my host and she takes my money from my host. Or I've bought a
temporary membership that allows me to drink for the night. Tonight,
it didn't matter because I had missed fish fry night by one night.
Friday nights the club serves fish and hires a band, Silverado twice
in a row. She invited me back, saying, "the walleye is delish". I let
myself out after she wished me an enthusiastic goodnight. I was
surprised that no one made a fuss. Usually someone asks me to join
when I slip into a private club. Murphy's stands next door to the Patternmakers Credit Union, and the
sidewalk had been plowed down to the dry cement. A foursome had
gathered outside the front door, smoking by the Smoker's Outpost,
three men and a woman. The woman had no connection to the world of
exotic dancers. It was her first night at a strip club ever and she
couldn't wait to get a lap dance after her smoke. Besides, the real
exotic dancers pay the house five dollars to take a smoke break on the
enclosed patio behind Murphy's, away from the clientele. I bummed a
smoke and chatted with the foursome. The three guys put out their fags
and went inside. It's pretty rare when a group of men will just leave their woman alone
on the sidewalk in front of a stripclub. She was an escorted female,
which means she arrived with the men and knew them from high school.
However, the men were all brother-in-laws; none of them were her
boyfriend. A woman by herself is usually mistaken for competition to the exotic
dancers, easier competition, and to avoid any mistake, is shown the
door. About a month ago, she told me, the man in the red jacket had
just married and the party celebrated the wedding reception at the
Muskegon Height Eagles. When the party had died down, the men in the
wedding party dragged their women down to Murphy's. Which was fine by
all, except the bride, who was pissed. She said I looked familiar. Did
I want to join them inside tonight. Sigh, I was hungry and a little too jaded on the vaunted Gentleman's
Club scene. I had, after all, lived in Dallas and Los Angeles and
traveled for business frequently in Atlanta. Last Thursday, I had
watched my date take over the kitchen at a dinner party about to fail,
and although I had stood close by and asked, she didn't even let me
chop vegetables. I got to build a fire in the hearth. Period. I almost
jizzed myself. Most strip clubs present exotic dancers with a huge paradox. The job
rewards fitness and firmness but offers unlimited access to cocktails
and beer. The men buy them one right after another, and in some clubs,
the exotics earn part of the price. It's very rare in the Midwest when
the establishment offers a healthy menu, although many in Dallas, Las
Vegas and Los Angeles offer steakhouse quality meals or at least a
buffet with shrimp, fresh fruit and vegetables. The exotics live on a
steady diet of pizza and food delivered by car. A guy who arrives at
one of these food ghettos with a sack of tacos has no idea how well
recieved he'll be. My new friend gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I
continued down Broadway west into Norton Shores. Across the street from the defunct Blue Note & Carbon Lounge, sign
declaring "Thanks for your support, Muskegon!", I studied the empty
lot of El Camino. Although the neon sign said OPEN, I guessed the
interior had gone into a sleepy despair after a poor night. So I
turned the corner and headed south on foot to Handsome Henry's on
Henry.
sounded more promising than Blue Plate special at the Schultz Hall, so
I paid my tab, PBR a buck a draft, three dollars with tippage. I set
off west again, encountering the Muskegon Heights Eagle Club. I saw a
lot of cars in the back lot, so I assumed tonight was night for
walleye and a dance band. I buzzed at the club house door and was
admitted by a guy with a pool cue in his left hand, not asked to show
a membership card. The woman at the bar struck me as handsome, a
volunteer bartender making a go of it from tips alone. Usually when I
have crashed a private club, the bartender has me pick a member to be
my host and she takes my money from my host. Or I've bought a
temporary membership that allows me to drink for the night. Tonight,
it didn't matter because I had missed fish fry night by one night.
Friday nights the club serves fish and hires a band, Silverado twice
in a row. She invited me back, saying, "the walleye is delish". I let
myself out after she wished me an enthusiastic goodnight. I was
surprised that no one made a fuss. Usually someone asks me to join
when I slip into a private club. Murphy's stands next door to the Patternmakers Credit Union, and the
sidewalk had been plowed down to the dry cement. A foursome had
gathered outside the front door, smoking by the Smoker's Outpost,
three men and a woman. The woman had no connection to the world of
exotic dancers. It was her first night at a strip club ever and she
couldn't wait to get a lap dance after her smoke. Besides, the real
exotic dancers pay the house five dollars to take a smoke break on the
enclosed patio behind Murphy's, away from the clientele. I bummed a
smoke and chatted with the foursome. The three guys put out their fags
and went inside. It's pretty rare when a group of men will just leave their woman alone
on the sidewalk in front of a stripclub. She was an escorted female,
which means she arrived with the men and knew them from high school.
However, the men were all brother-in-laws; none of them were her
boyfriend. A woman by herself is usually mistaken for competition to the exotic
dancers, easier competition, and to avoid any mistake, is shown the
door. About a month ago, she told me, the man in the red jacket had
just married and the party celebrated the wedding reception at the
Muskegon Height Eagles. When the party had died down, the men in the
wedding party dragged their women down to Murphy's. Which was fine by
all, except the bride, who was pissed. She said I looked familiar. Did
I want to join them inside tonight. Sigh, I was hungry and a little too jaded on the vaunted Gentleman's
Club scene. I had, after all, lived in Dallas and Los Angeles and
traveled for business frequently in Atlanta. Last Thursday, I had
watched my date take over the kitchen at a dinner party about to fail,
and although I had stood close by and asked, she didn't even let me
chop vegetables. I got to build a fire in the hearth. Period. I almost
jizzed myself. Most strip clubs present exotic dancers with a huge paradox. The job
rewards fitness and firmness but offers unlimited access to cocktails
and beer. The men buy them one right after another, and in some clubs,
the exotics earn part of the price. It's very rare in the Midwest when
the establishment offers a healthy menu, although many in Dallas, Las
Vegas and Los Angeles offer steakhouse quality meals or at least a
buffet with shrimp, fresh fruit and vegetables. The exotics live on a
steady diet of pizza and food delivered by car. A guy who arrives at
one of these food ghettos with a sack of tacos has no idea how well
recieved he'll be. My new friend gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I
continued down Broadway west into Norton Shores. Across the street from the defunct Blue Note & Carbon Lounge, sign
declaring "Thanks for your support, Muskegon!", I studied the empty
lot of El Camino. Although the neon sign said OPEN, I guessed the
interior had gone into a sleepy despair after a poor night. So I
turned the corner and headed south on foot to Handsome Henry's on
Henry.
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